


the best kind of music

by kontj (kaguol)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, timeskip oikawa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28339905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaguol/pseuds/kontj
Summary: for most of his life, oikawa has never given a concrete answer on what his favorite song was. well, until you came along.
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47





	the best kind of music

“Tooru!”

Brown eyes snapped back to focus, only to be met by pouted lips and a furrowed brow. Oikawa raised his eyebrows in response, barely registering the words as he brought his water bottle to his lips.

“I was asking you what kind of music you listen to,” you huffed, hands reaching for his empty bottle. The setter wiggled his eyebrows, leaning into your space as your face grew hot with embarrassment at the suggestive glint in his eye.

“Kidz Bop.” His lips were right next to your ear, sending chills down your spine at the lowness of his voice – a sharp contrast to his words. The absurdity of it all made the laughter in your chest rise, shoving him away while you gripped your knees to steady yourself.

Oikawa couldn’t help his lips from arching, a small yet genuine smile on his face as he stared at your figure, doubled over laughing at his antics. He felt a sharp pain in his chest as you met his gaze, throwing a fluffy towel at his face, the remnants of your laughter still evident in your eyes.

He watched as you made your way to the rest of the members of the volleyball club, handing off towels and bottles with a cheerful demeanor. It was hard not to like you – hell, even the resident Mad Dog wasn’t immune to your charms – what with your sunshine smile and genuine eyes.

A sharp whistle cut through his thoughts, and his feet instinctively made their way onto the court. But even as he caught your figure picking up bottles from the sideline, he couldn’t help but mull over the question you had asked.

Nothing in particular came to mind, but when his ears picked up your voice cheering them on a series of grueling drills, he wondered if that was considered music.

The sound of his palms slapping his cheeks echoed through the court, and the look that the rest of the third years shared spoke volumes.

Iwaizumi could only bite his tongue, knowing that though his best friend’s one of the smartest people on the court, Oikawa still has a peanut for a brain when it comes to everything else.

* * *

You stopped in front of his door, hand poised to knock, when the door flung open, revealing a mess of brown hair and red-rimmed eyes. The room behind him was a mess, and the sight of the smile on his face hurt more than everything that had happened.

“Tooru.”

Your voice wobbled, and it was enough to break down the damn that hid everything he truly felt for so long. He rushed forward, arms encircling your figure as he buried his face in your neck, tears streaming down and soaking your shirt. His mouth was open in a silent scream, before erupting into sobs as he felt your hands rub circles on his back, whispering affirmations into his hair.

“I’m here, Tooru.”

And you did, a silent pillar as he emptied years upon years of frustration and sadness onto your shirt. You stood, holding him up as he trembled with the weight of his own expectations crashing down. You stood, your touch and your voice guiding him back from the river of his self-hatred.

“I got you.”

That night, Oikawa let himself fall from the high walls of the fortress of his own creation – a mess of faux smiles and insecurities stemming from a feeling of inferiority that ultimately led to self-destruction.

He let himself go – and you waited for him at the bottom, heart open, and arms outstretched.

* * *

“Thought you might be here.”

Your voice felt loud in the empty gym, echoing from your spot near the door. You watched as Oikawa hit a few more balls to the other side of the court, each sending a jolt to your heart. You knew that after the match with Shiratorizawa, the setter was only ‘retired’ on paper. He had spent most of his afternoons helping the new recruits train – or dragging you and Iwaizumi to the nearby park for an impromptu game.

After all, this would probably the last time he’ll step onto _this_ court.

You could help the tears welling up at the corners of your eyes as he walked toward you, forehead slightly damp with that wolfish grin of his. It was a different kind of grin, something that he had only shared with his most precious few.

“Miss me already, Y/N-chan?”

You rolled your eyes, throwing a playful punch on his shoulder, the brunet wailing dramatically at the act. From then, you had opted to walk home in silence, your brains working in overdrive as each step brought you closer to a future you wanted to stall.

“Tooru.”

Oikawa looked back, breath hitching in his throat as he drank in your portrait; in that moment, bathed under the warm glow of the late afternoon sun, you had never been so breathtaking.

“You never told me your favorite song.”

It was a statement, rather than a question, and it came with a veil of words unsaid.

So, he turned away, shoving his hands into his pockets to conceal his clenched fists. The confession lodged itself in his throat, and it took all of his willpower to keep his voice steady.

“Say my name.”

A beat of silence, before you fell into step next to him once more. “Never pegged you for a Destiny’s Child fan, Tooru.”

The air shifted, and the two of you doubled over in laughter. He didn’t deny it – “I’ll have you know I have impeccable taste, and you know it.” – but he didn’t correct you either. Oikawa let the moment pass, heart swinging between regret and relief as you chattered animatedly to fill the silence.

He let you ramble about nothing in particular, and he longed to tuck this moment away into a jar to revisit when he left. After all, though Destiny’s Child swept the world by storm, it was your voice that swept him off his feet and sent him careening from wanting to kiss you breathless.

A disembodied voice shook the brown-haired setter from his daydream, the monotone announcing the boarding of his flight. He sighed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he slung his backpack over one shoulder, one hand fishing out his phone from his pocket.

As his finger hovered over the ‘airplane mode’ option, it pinged with a familiar annoying notification – one set different than the others. He snorted at the message, upsetting the family in front of him at his rowdiness as he shot back an apologetic smile.

He turned off his phone, shoving it into his pockets, the ghost of a smile on his face as the image of your conversation with him replayed over and over again in his mind’s eye.

You had sent him a clip of when the volleyball club went to karaoke, and though it was a blurry recording, he knew all too well of the scene: your face a breath away from his as he poured his heart out in a duet, every inch of his body posed to take your lips into his but chickening at the last second and pressing it against your cheek.

But it wasn’t his own cowardice that had him reeling, but the messages you sent right after, sending his heart to overdrive.

> **no matter where you are...**

> **seijoh karaoke nights >> anything else >:(**

> **conquer the world, tooru.**

Oikawa stared out of the tiny window, watching the clouds drift by, earbuds on to drown out the snoring of the man in the seat next to him. Even in the cramp area, in a metal bird thousands of feet above ground, he felt unstoppable.

In the midst of training, when his legs were running on sheer willpower and his mind was halfway through the thought of quitting – he saw your face, with a quirked eye and crossed arms, encouragement hidden in a series of taunts.

During the many matches against giants of the volleyball (in all sense of the word), he heard your voice amidst the crowd, screaming his name at the top of your lungs, and he zeroed in on the ball every time, making flashy yet calculated moves that made the crowd roar with in appreciation.

At the end of these games, whether his team won or lost, he always found himself scanning the audience for the familiar tuft of hair, the familiar gait, and the familiar smile – before his own drops at the realization of the distance.

Today is no different – after a particularly gruesome game that ended after seven deuces, he expected to hear the familiar beat of your feet against the floor, running up to him at top speed with that stupid look on your face you had when you watch him play.

He saw nothing but a sea of faces, and it took all of his remaining energy to plaster a smile on his lips as he faced the reporters, as it was his turn to deal with the press.

Oikawa beamed at the pleasantries and congratulations, and braced himself for the segment that he was informed beforehand. His eyes drifted off into the crowd, the words from the reporter’s lips going into one ear and out the other as he tried to answer the rapid fire questions.

“And lastly, what is your favorite song?”

Oikawa’s heart lurched at the all too familiar question. His mouth dried, as he tried to come up with a vague answer to satisfy the fanbase that closely follow him and his team. His hesitation must’ve shown, for it elicited a giggle from somewhere in the crowd – a giggle that he had only dreamed of hearing in person.

“You never seem to answer that question, Tooru.”

He turned his head to the direction of the voice, and was met with the same pair of eyes he had been dreaming of for as long as he could remember. Your name fell from his lips, legs moving away from the team of journalists and pushing past the crowd.

And there you were – the weight of three years on your features, yet the same childish mirth on your lips. Hist throat bobbed, mouth agape as he struggled for words, fearing that he would say something and you’d disappear, his illusion shattered.

Instead, you took a step forward, peering at him mischievously.

“Please tell me this isn’t a dream.”

You softened, and reached out to him, hand gripping his wrist to jolt him out of his reverie. Years of yearning for the setter manifested themselves as tears sprung in the corners of your eyes.

“I’m here Tooru.”

He wondered if he had died a hero in his previous life, to warrant such a divine voice to call out his name. He wondered what kind of deeds he had done then, to have the chance to lean in and press his lips against yours, after all these years of holding back.

He wondered what kind of saint he was, to be able to close the gap between your lips – and for you to kiss him back with the same fervor.

You made a small voice as his grip on your waist tightened, and he hastily pulled away, just now realizing the weight of the situation. He felt his cheeks warm, yet it didn’t stop him from turning to the reporter and flashing them a grin, his mouth opening to spew out words that would send the entirety of his fanbase into shock.

“My favorite song would be when my beloved calls my name.”

If your cheeks could get any warmer, it would, but you opted for a punch on his arm as you quickly stormed away – embarrassment and pride warring against each other as the brown setter shot back a grin at the press and scrambled after you.

But despite the taunts from his team and the swarm of rabid fans, the grin that stretched on his face from ear to ear, and the laugh that rumbled in his chest as he held you against him – well, that made up for it.

For him to call your name – and for you to call his, that was the best kind of music.


End file.
